


Street of Dreams

by starkspangledfondue



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1950s, 1950s cultural norm, AU, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Eventual Smut, Homosexuality, M/M, Multi, Nosy Neighbors, PTSD!Steve, Secret Relationships, Slow Build, abuse tw, alcoholism tw, conservative society, homophobia tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1338514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkspangledfondue/pseuds/starkspangledfondue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 1950's: a time of rebirth for America after the horrors of World War II. Dozens of veterans returned home, though a good many soldiers were lost. The survivors were promised a nicer way of life as though it would compensate for the trauma - their own little patch of green where a nuclear family could thrive.<br/>The suburbs were home to the Baby Boomer generation, and Steve Rogers lived right in the middle of it. He made do with the life he was promised, everything cookie-cutter perfect until the Starks came into town, changing Steve's perception on what perfection really was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saturday, April 11th, 1953

**Author's Note:**

> I'm embarking on a new journey with this fic!  
> Much thanks to MystikSpiral for encouraging me to write this, and Morphia for being an excellent beta!

Steve Rogers stared out over his manicured lawn with a small smile, hearing the sounds of birds chirping in the trees and shrubbery that framed his house. The neighborhood was perfect, his “little piece of heaven” in New York, far enough away from the city for some peace, or so the suburban developers claimed. And Steve needed it.

  
At only 30, he was a retired veteran, having served in the army for the entirety of World War II. He was one of the lucky ones who got to come home both alive, and in one piece – his own best friend, Bucky, not having that luxury.

  
Now’s not the time, he reminded himself, fingers brushing over the blank page of his sketchbook to keep those thoughts at bay. He and his wife, Sharon, had moved out here to start over; to raise a few kids and have that Apple-Pie life he’d always dreamed of. He wasn’t going to let a little shellshock get to him when he had American perfection at his fingertips.

  
Perfection. He thought the word over, letting it roll around in his head as he fought to find muse for his sketch. He had exactly that, didn’t he? Men aspired to have a physique like his - battle scars and all, a beautiful wife with a baby on the way, and land that would be paid off in a matter of years. He had a good job, a chance to return to his hobbies, and most importantly, the war had left him with only nightmares and a wounded friend. That was perfect, all things considered. But there was something missing.

  
He knew what, but didn’t dare say it. Would never admit that his wife couldn't satisfy him because what he wanted wasn’t feasible – it was impossible, illegal, and hard to attain in secret.

  
The blond found himself lost in thought, the sound of a car horn startling him back into reality, making charcoal streak across the once-clean page. Looking up, he saw a moving van pulling into the driveway of the house across the street. The engine rumbled as Steve watched curiously. New neighbors came constantly now, and it was always nice to see who would be joining their community. Sometimes they were city folk looking for a change, other times it was an immigrant family looking to get a better handle on American life. He watched the driver step out, waiting for the family to follow.

  
To his surprise, the family wasn’t riding in the truck’s cabin. Instead, a car that was definitely too expensive for a middle-class family rolled down the street and pulled into the driveway next to the moving van. What were people with money moving out here for?

  
From the passenger side, a redhead with perfectly coifed hair got out, smiling up at the simple house.

  
“Look at that, a real picket fence. Isn’t that quaint, sweetheart?” She was speaking to the driver – her husband, most likely – who was still in the car. Her voice, unlike most of the timid housewives, was strong and steady, showing that she was from the city, though her accent certainly wasn’t Northeastern.

  
The driver’s side door opened, the man behind the wheel letting out a grunt that sounded like disapproval. “Yeah, quaint, just like every other house on the street – only ours is cream instead of eggshell!”

  
The man, an average-height brunet, had his back to Steve, but his posture said that this wasn’t his idea of a perfect home. “Why couldn’t we have stayed in Los Angeles? You loved my family’s manor!”

  
“Tony,” the redhead chided, hands on her hips. “You promised me that we’d have a normal life. Raising children in a mansion is not normal, no matter how your father raised you. We bought the place, we’re living here – no matter how “beneath you” it is.”

  
“Don’t bring my father into this, Pepper. You know how I feel about him.”

  
Pepper and Tony – married for a few years, judging by the way they argued, and from out West. And a bit loud, though he supposed that it was welcome. Things got a bit quiet out here.

  
He could see Pepper brush her husband off, and head into the house with a “come inside when you decide to stop being a sourpuss.”

  
From his porch, he could hear Tony sigh, looking up at the house and shaking his head. A man and wife that didn’t care for discretion, he thought, amused that everything about this couple seemed to break the mould.

  
As though he could feel Steve’s gaze on him, the brunet turned to look across the street, a brow raised. The veteran swore that his heart skipped a beat for a moment – the man was handsome, so much so that even he had to admit it. Tan, though obviously not from outdoor labor, and wearing a suit that had to be tailored. Rich - definitely rich.

  
Steve shook off the impossible thoughts, smiling in Tony’s direction. He stood and waved from his porch. “Hey! Welcome to the neighborhood! You’re gonna love it here!” Like he hadn’t heard him speaking.

  
Tony looked Steve over for a moment, before a half-smile – or was it a smirk? – made its way onto his face. “Perhaps I will.”

  
Without an introduction, Tony waved over his shoulder as he turned to his house, entering the building soon after. Steve was left on his porch, confused by his neighbor’s answer. “Perhaps I will”? What did that even mean?

  
Steve didn’t have much time to linger on that thought, Sharon calling him inside for lunch. Giving his new neighbor’s house one last look, he close his sketchbook and went inside, back to his perfect life.


	2. Saturday, April 11th, 1953

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say a big thanks to Keita for helping me figure out where to take this, and Morphia for being a fantastic beta.  
> Enjoy!

Like every other weekend, Steve found himself working outside on Saturday afternoon – mowing the lawn, keeping things looking presentable, and feeling that it was a little ridiculous how much people cared about having perfectly symmetrical hedges. He understood wanting control over the details in life after the War, but a few stray branches weren’t cause for the end of the world. Still, he did it anyways, everything perfectly manicured.

As usual, Sharon came out with freshly squeezed lemonade for him about an hour into his work, and they sat down on the porch. At 4 pm, it was just starting to cool down for the evening, the drink speeding the process along for him. Steve took a sip, sparing a glance at his wife and noticing in the baby bump that just started to show. “Thank you,” he mumbled, in reference to the lemonade – though he supposed thanking her for a child was something he should do.

Sharon smiled, resting one of her hands over her stomach as though she knew her husband’s train of thought. “No problem, dear.”

They sat in silence for another moment, though the blond could tell that his wife was thinking of something. “What’s on your mind, doll face?”

A small giggle slipped past the woman’s lips. “Now there’s something I haven’t heard in a while.” It was almost chiding – like she expected Steve to still call her the nicknames from their days going steady. “I was just thinkin’ that I should bake something for the new neighbors – nothing says welcome like fresh apple pie. Already put a couple in the oven, anyways.”

Steve knew where the conversation was headed, because this happened every time a new family moved in. “Gonna play socialite and throw ‘em a party, too? They’ve only been here for a few hours, Sharon.”

Frowning slightly, Sharon nodded, though she didn’t see the situation like her husband did. “I’m not playing! I am a socialite – or the closest thing this place has to one. I need something to keep me entertained. Let me host, sweetheart. I could have everything ready by tomorrow.”

The veteran knew where things would go from here. He’d say yes, Sharon would spend a bit too much at the grocer’s, and they’d have 10 or 12 of the families on the block come to welcome the Starks. Everyone would be on his or her best behavior, and his wife would pride herself on feeling the most perfect out of all the others on the street. Steve didn’t know why she bothered to ask this time – she didn’t the time before.

“Okay,” he said, downing the rest of his lemonade before continuing. “But don’t let the neighbor's kids touch my records this time.”

Beaming, Sharon got up from her seat to briefly kiss her husband’s lips. “I’ll keep them safe, promise. I have to go call Maria and tell her.” Taking Steve’s empty glass, she went into the house without another word.

Alone, Steve slouched in his seat with a sigh, letting his eyes close. _You love her_ , he reminded himself. _You love her, and that’s why you do this for her_.

He repeated it to himself until he almost believed it, knowing very well that he didn’t care about her the same way other husbands did about their wives.

* * *

A few hours later, the Rogers’ were knocking on their new neighbors’ door. Sharon insisted that they look “nice” when introducing themselves, Steve in tan slacks and a gingham shirt and Sharon wearing one of those cinched dresses she made from a McCall’s catalog pattern. Needless to say, she looked lovely and he felt uncomfortable.

They waited in silence, Sharon almost nervously clutching the cutting board that displayed her pie. Steve started to wonder if they were going to answer when the door opened, best smile on as Pepper greeted them.

“Hello,” the redhead said smoothly, offering her hand and looking the couple over. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“We’re the Rogers', miss. I’m Steve, and this is my wife, Sharon.” Steve took her hand, politely placing a kiss on the back of it. Pepper’s nose crinkled playfully, as though she had expected him not to do so.

Introduction aside, Sharon took it as her permission to speak. “We live across the street, and thought it would be the neighborly thing to welcome you to our little piece of heaven. Right, dearest?”

Steve nodded, not letting his smile look tight or fake. “She baked a pie and everything.”

Pepper looked down, as though she hadn’t noticed the smell of cinnamon wafting through the air. “Oh! Well, come right in. I’m Pepper, by the way. Pepper Stark. My husband, Tony, should be here somewhere.”

The redhead called “Sweetheart?” over her shoulder, before disappearing down a hallway to search for her husband – which was a bit of a strange experience for Steve and Sharon. It was like Pepper wasn’t used to answering her own doors. The couple let themselves in, Sharon standing awkwardly in the foyer before she set the pie down on the dining room table.

Steve took the moment to look around the house, or at least what he could see from this room. They’d already managed to furnish the place, though it all seemed a bit off-balance. The furniture was made for a larger living space, definitely, and gleamed as though someone had taken the time to polish it every day. _Rich_ , repeated in his mind. Everything about them said “wealth.”

A moment later, Pepper emerged from one of the rooms with Tony following her, the man a bit disheveled and in a tight, grease-stained shirt. Steve had to will himself not to stare, putting his arm around Sharon like he was shielding her from the underdressed man. Really, it was reminding him that he should be looking at her.

“Tony,” Steve said once the other couple was close. He outstretched his hand once more, smiling politely. “Steve Rogers. I saw you outside earlier.”

Tony nodded, a smile of what he assumed was recognition playing at his lips.

“Yeah, I remember – nice to put a name to the face. I’d hoped that I’d see you again.”

The brunet’s grip was a little tighter than necessary, not as strong as Steve’s but still having a reasonable force behind it, and the veteran tried not to read into it – just like he tried not to read into the fact Tony had thought about getting to know him. Or just how brown those eyes looked up close.

“Well, we are neighbors. Bound to happen sometime, don’t ya think?” A chuckle chased the sentence, keeping things light despite how tense his irrational thoughts started to make him.

The blonde on his arm nudged him sutbly, always wanting to be announced and put on display, claiming it sounded more official when Steve said it. “And this is my wife, Sharon,” he added almost as an afterthought, keeping the exasperation at his wife’s social etiquette out of his voice.

Before there was any time for silence, Pepper linked her arm with Sharon’s. “Sharon, dear, I was just finishing up dinner if you would like to help me. I know it’s short notice, but you’re welcome to stay. Darling, why don’t you show Steve your workshop while we finish?”

Steve didn’t really process what was going on until after Sharon had kissed his cheek and walked off to the kitchen. Of course, they were giving the men time to talk while the women gossiped. No doubt his wife was already filling Pepper in on all of the “scandalous” stories suburban life had to offer, choosing to forget that she’d already made supper at home in favor of a little conversation.

Tony turned to Steve then, head cocked in the direction of what he assumed was the workshop. “C’mon, if you’re into cars and mechanics you’re going to be in absolute heaven. Garage space is one of the reasons we moved here.”

Steve raised a brow – mansions didn’t have enough space for cars? Of course, he was jumping to conclusions, but how could he not? “More into bikes, but if it’s got an engine I’m willing to take a look.”

The brunet smirked, leading him down the hallway and glancing over his shoulder to speak. “I’ve got a couple of those, too. You got any yourself?

“Just one of those old military Harleys that they sold off as surplus after the war, but it needs maintenance. Sharon doesn’t like ‘em, so I never bothered to fix it.” Steve shrugged, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt now that he wasn’t around his wife, who always scolded him that it would wrinkle the fabric.

Looking up at the brunet, he swore that he’d caught Tony staring at him again – and now he knew that it had to be wishful thinking, making something out of absolutely nothing. He scolded himself internally, turning his attention to the garage door that his neighbor had now opened, revealing a few luxury vehicles and the newest model Ducati motorcycles.

“Looks like you go for all of the European models.” He looked through the room with his hands stuffed in his pockets, circling one of the cherry red bikes.

Tony snorted, “I’ve never been one for the American crap – in my opinion, the Italians do it much better.”

It was an obvious dig at Steve’s choice in purchases, the blond glaring at Tony though there was absolutely no malice behind it. “Buying American helps the economy. I’d buy more if I could.”

An almost fond smile played at his neighbor’s lips, and Tony shook his head. “Fair enough. Tell you what – bring your junker around sometime and we’ll work on it together. Maybe I can show you how it’s done.”

Now Steve swore that his imagination was going too far, his mouth going dry because Tony sounded like he was flirting – a man, flirting with him. The blond had to be hearing things. It only made sense. Still, he didn’t stop himself from thinking about what could happen if this wasn’t in his head.

Steve smiled, clearing his throat and nodding. “I’m pretty sure I know how to do it myself, Tony, but I’ll take you up on that. Maybe we could go for a ride after.”

A breathy “I’d like that” was the response he received, and the blond felt like he couldn’t breathe. With his imagination already churning things, his mind shifted to what he knew was insane and unnatural, but what he truly wanted and had to keep stifled. He knew Tony was just being friendly, neighborly. That tone of voice was just a fluke.

The blond had only been in his head for a second, but it felt like moments later that Tony spoke again.

“Come on, I’ll show you what you’re missing out on, buying all that American crap.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve took his hands out of his pockets.

“You mean, let’s take a look at what I can’t afford.”

* * *

Conversation went on easy between them, light and friendly – normal – proving to Steve that everything just had to have been in his head. There wasn’t anything there. And yet, he wanted the meaningless touches to his shoulder or the guiding of his hand to a certain socket to mean something. Somehow, that scared him a thousand times more than a simple attraction to another man. To be safe, he kept more of a distance between them.

After a moment, the question he always got came to attention – though it was a bit surprising coming from somebody that wasn’t from this side of the states.

“I heard you were a war veteran – well, veteran’s an understatement – I heard you were a goddamn hero. A legend, even. What’s a soldier like you doing now?”

Steve snorted at the mention of his so-called “legend,” slowly licking over his lips. “Word travel that fast, or do people actually know me?” Shaking his head, the blond looked up at Tony. “I thought about goin’ back to school, but compensation doesn’t give enough – not with a baby on the way. Sharon found me some desk job with good pay.”

Unlike the other veterans his age, Steve wasn’t reaping in the benefits of coming home a hero. He could have, and Sharon had pushed him to, but he felt that others deserved it much more.

Wanting to keep the subject off of himself, lest he say something he’d regret, he shifted the spotlight to Tony. “What about you? You seem like one of those swanky business types.”

A smirk made its way onto his neighbor’s face, the expression almost cocky as he gestured to himself. “I’m what the big wigs call a futurist – an extraordinary inventor and engineer. Admit it, you’re impressed.”

As he spoke, Tony got closer, and his brow rose as he invaded Steve’s personal space. The blond’s heart nearly stopped, but God he couldn’t let it show – this had to be flirting, but it wasn’t. He acted normally, playfully nudging the brunet with his elbow to get him far enough away to feel comfortable. Well, far enough away that he was comfortable knowing he wouldn’t do something irrational.

“Completely gobsmacked,” Steve said flatly, though the practiced smirk on his face gave away that he was playing. “I suppose it makes sense, an engineer having so many cars.”

“Guess so.”

Steve didn’t notice at first, but the atmosphere of the room changed when Tony backed away – something about it almost more closed off than before. Had he done something wrong?

Of course not – they were just looking at bikes together.

Tony moved across the room to grab a beer from the ice chest he kept hidden, tossing one to Steve who caught it easily. He said a quick “thanks” before opening it for a nice swig, the brew better than what he usually drank. As he drank, he watched Tony, though he made sure to look like he was glancing around the room. The brunet was silent, seemingly lost in his thoughts, and after a minute or two Steve found the quiet to be a little too much after all the conversation.

Fighting for something to say, he went with the typical, uninteresting chatter that other husbands in the neighborhood resorted to. “Noticed you’ve got an empty nest,” he pointed out obviously.

The statement seemed to make Tony uncomfortable, which Steve almost instantly regretted. The brunet nodded, fiddling with his beer. “Yeah, no kids. I’m not sure I was meant to have any, you know?”

And Steve did know, genuinely anxious about his wife’s pregnancy and if he was even fit to be a father. He didn’t voice the thought, just nodded.

Another beat of silence passed before Tony spoke again, the weight of something heavy furrowing his brow.

“Do you ever feel like – like there’s something more? Like you’re craving something, but you don’t know what it is?”

Steve paused, not knowing how to go about answering such a loaded question – one that could have half a dozen implications. Because Steve was tired of hiding, pretending he loved a woman that he never could and wanting things he could never have. He felt weighed down almost every day, stuck running in place to something he didn’t know he was looking for.

“All the damn time,” slipped before Steve could make himself shut up, the blond having enough sense not to let himself sound wounded.

Tony seemed to think over the answer for a second before nodding, turning to Steve. “So do I.”

The brunet’s beer was knocked back in a single swig, though he didn’t even seem phased that he’d done so. Steve didn’t question it, knowing better than to think anything of it.

Discarding the bottle, Tony walked back to Steve and placed a hand on his shoulder, a wry smile at his lips. “Thanks.”

Steve didn’t really know what his neighbor was thanking him for, but he nodded, his own smile barely stronger than Tony’s. Briefly, his hand rested over the brunet’s reassuringly, and he tried to ignore the static going through him.

“Don’t mention it.”

Finishing his own beer, Steve set it down in the bin Tony had tossed his own into, turning back to him once he had. “We should go back upstairs. Our wives should be done with dinner soon, and Sharon hates it when I’m not washed up.”

It felt wrong to mention that they were married, but he himself was wrong for even thinking that. They were married, and Tony seemed to be happy with Pepper – aside from that comment he’d made earlier.

The brunet nodded, letting out a small grunt of agreement. “Pepper’s the same way. I’ll show you to the restroom.”

Moments later, they were enjoying dinner, and with Sharon and Pepper at the table, Steve found it even more reasonable to believe that all the flirting was in his mind. There was no way another man of his persuasion lived in this neighborhood.

* * *

Later that night, when Tony was in bed, he stared up at the ceiling with a frown on his face. Pepper was curled up to his side fast asleep, but all he could think of was the strong, handsome blond with the humble demeanor that he knew had been flirting with him all evening. When he finally drifted off, he dreamt of strong hands gripping at his hips, and blond hair tangled between his fingers, with beautifully pink lips kissing at his neck.

All Tony could dream about was Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long on the update! I'd been busy with end of semester and moving out of my dorm, but that's not important right now. What's important is that I updated.  
> Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Sunday, April 12th, 1953

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to Morphia, for being a fantastic beta.

Steve woke up in a cold sweat, fighting to catch his breath. His chest was tight, and the soldier could swear he was having a heart attack. He tried to force himself to calm down, gasping for breath quietly despite his desperation – the last thing he needed was to wake up Sharon. His wife didn’t need to know that these nightmares still happened.

It took him a moment, but he got himself under control, sitting up in bed. He cupped his face in his hands, trying to force away images that lingered; images that he was sure were engraved into his eyelids by now. Smoke, gunfire, shouting, Bucky’s muffled screams. It never left. Somehow, no matter what he fell asleep thinking of, he woke up reliving the war.

Shaking the thoughts as best as he could, he quietly left the bed, Sharon’s back towards him as she slept. He turned away, feeling almost guilty that he hid this from her – she loved him, he knew she did, and he had her thinking that he’d spontaneously been cured. He tried to shake away that feeling, as well. Did he really owe her anything?

He thought that over as he walked to the bathroom, not really coming to any conclusions as he started his morning routine – shower, basic hygiene, shave, stare at himself in the mirror until he felt like he could pass for normal.

The water was cold when he stepped into the shower, but he endured it. It kept him awake, alert. Helped him think clearly.

What he thought about most days, he really never remembered. Everything drowned in a blurry monotony. Usually, every day was a recap of the day before, and typically, nothing special happened.

Yesterday, though, was different. His mind was stuck on one thing.

He’d fallen asleep with his neighbor on his mind, thoughts jumbled on a conversation that he’d memorized completely. Steve spent his time in half-asleep lethargy dissecting nuances, what he had assumed could have been flirtations – and then he scolded himself for being so insane, for falling asleep thinking of how something in Tony’s smile had seemed different. He chalked it up to Tony being uncomfortable, out of place, anything but reciprocation.

His thoughts, apparently, took him longer than usual to sort through, shivers wracking through his body. He shut off the water – and his thoughts – then, knowing that they would not be safe when he faced the world outside. He toweled off, and went through the rest of his routine.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, freshly shaved and wearing boxers, Sharon seemed to have just woken up. She was sitting up, hair disheveled, and the shoulder of her nightgown had slipped off of her shoulder. She smiled tiredly at Steve, stretching before reaching out a hand to him.

Almost obligatory, Steve walked towards his wife, sitting on the edge of the bed. He took her hand and kissed over her knuckles, showing affection he didn’t really feel. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

Sharon’s smile widened, and she let out a yawn before returning the “good morning.” Taking her hand back, she placed it on her stomach, almost as though she was trying to exaggerate her condition. “Good to see you’re getting an early start. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

Steve tried not to act confused at first, wondering what they had to do – then he recalled his wife’s impromptu party, and held back a sigh. Forced socialization, what a riot.

“I know, dear. I’ll get started after breakfast.”

* * *

 

Later in the evening, Steve was in slacks and a button down, tugging restlessly at his tie. The get together was in full swing, the dining room, patio, and backyard all packed with their neighbors. Steve was taking a breather, having offered to get the other husbands beers so that he could hide out in the kitchen. It wasn’t that he didn’t like these people – they were all nice enough, just not his type of people. His friends were all in the city, and he didn’t really know how to talk to the suburban fathers.

So he avoided the repetitive sports talk as much as he could, ducking out every time they started the baseball vs football argument, and found any excuse he could when they started bringing up what was going on in the Korean War. He’d had enough war talk for a lifetime.

Grabbing a couple beers from the kitchen cooler, he started calculating just how much time he could stay in here when he heard the saloon doors swing open. He assumed it was Sharon, coming in to restock snacks, and turned with a smile plastered onto his face. When he saw that it was Tony instead, he tried not to be too surprised.

“Tony. Good to see you,” Steve said casually, setting down his beers onto the counter to offer him his hand. “Didn’t know you’d gotten here.”

The brunet took it, gripping almost too tightly when their hands clasped together. “Figured I should show up, since your wife did all this for Pep and me. She sure knows how to draw a crowd.”

There was a playful lilt in Tony’s voice, and Steve tried not to read into it. It was only poking fun at Sharon, and how much she’d do to be the best gal on the block.

“Women, huh? They just love the attention,” he joked back, trying his best to play the part of suburban husband.

“Is that how you really feel?”

The question made Steve raise an eyebrow, wondering how in the world Tony knew he wasn’t serious at all.

“What makes you think I think otherwise?”

Tony smirked, stepping a bit closer – and Steve held his breath until he realized that the brunet was just reaching for one of the beers. And yet, he didn’t back away once he’d gotten the bottle. “You don’t seem like the type. Traditional, sure, but you know these appearances aren’t all there is.”

_He’s got me there_ , Steve thought, trying not to overthink just how much Tony saw past.

“You’re surprisingly good at reading people for a science type. You could teach Banner a couple things. Meet him yet? He lives a block over. Some kind of nuke scientist.”

A subtle change in subject, he hoped, because he was finding it hard not to think of how observant Tony was – and how suggestive he looked when the brunet nursed his beer.

“Another scientist, huh? I’ll have to meet him later. I think that I need to pay attention to my host right now. Since you so generously opened your home.”

Flirting – that was flirting, right? Did he flirt back? Or was it just Tony being nice? He could never tell.

“Rogers? You with me?”

Steve blinked, realizing that he’d started getting lost in his own mind. “Sorry, I faded out for a moment. Tuned into another station.”

Tony let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “I can tell, you looked like a deer in headlights for a second. You really aren’t a social one, are you?”

A wry smile played at Steve’s lips, and he shrugged, opening his own beer so he didn’t have to look at those eyes that seemed so damn mischievous right now. “I’m social enough, just not used to this kind of people. Toto’s not in Brooklyn anymore.”

A more genuine laugh fell from Tony’s lips, playful disbelief in his expression. “Did you really just reference Wizard of Oz? And call yourself the mutt? I knew you had a sense of humor in there, but I didn't expect quoting ancient movies.”

Steve found himself laughing with him, feeling a bit more at ease. “There’s nothing wrong with the Wizard! It's a classic! And of course I’m the mutt, I _am_ a mutt.”

In the moment, with his guard down, he didn’t realize that Tony had gotten that much closer to him, something in his expression off-putting, yet welcome. He swallowed, looking down at the shorter male.

“I didn’t think you could surprise me.”

Steve didn’t know why, but when Tony said those words, he almost shivered. Almost leaned in and said that he was full of more surprises than he’d ever know, almost did something drastic. So almost too quickly, he moved away, grabbing the other beers on the counter.

“Yeah, well, you haven’t gotten to know me yet.” He smiled, almost too tightly, clutching the bottles to keep his hands from shaking. “I, um, have to go to the backyard. The neighborhood guys expected me to bring these a while ago. Come back to us in bit, yeah?”

Slowly, he backed out of the room, and tried his hardest not to feel guilty about how crestfallen Tony looked. Crestfallen? No, disappointed? He didn’t know, but he did know that it couldn’t be because they had almost had a moment. It was something else – maybe because Steve was his only friend in the neighborhood so far. That made more sense.

Smiling just as tightly, Tony nodded. “Yeah – I’ll be out in a little while. Just got to find Pepper, first.”

Steve didn’t believe Tony, gut twisting a little, but he didn’t mention anything about it. “Okay. See you.”

Almost too quickly, he walked out of the kitchen, his tie suddenly feeling too tight around his neck, stifling him like a noose. But he didn’t fix it – because he knew that even if he did, he would still be starving for oxygen. The invisible noose was a reminder of what he couldn’t face, of what would kill him even if he could.

* * *

 

Tony didn’t come out to the backyard later, catching Steve by the door to say that he was going home. The blond tried not to seem disappointed, smiling and nodding. He said the usual script – the “Hope you had a good time!” and “See you around!” – though this time he really meant it.

He thought that Tony was going to leave it at that, overly cordial and detached, when he said that Steve should come by tomorrow – work on his bike, like they’d agreed the day before. The soldier said yes, that he’d be by after work, and he knew for sure this time that Tony’s features lit up when he said yes.

When the door shut behind Tony and Pepper, Steve found he paused in the foyer for a moment, analyzing what had just happened.

_Tony’s lonely and needs a friend_ , he reasoned, _and I’m the most obvious candidate_. Tony isn’t like me.

The irrational, emotional part of Steve’s brain quietly admitted – despite how scared he was, and how unrequited it was – that it wasn’t the case at all.

Steve was smitten, ridiculously so after only knowing the man for a day. He thought, hoped, that Tony might just feel the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Updates with hopefully be on Wednesdays, though I cannot make promises.  
> Comments with constructive criticism are welcome!


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